


I Chose To Be Happy

by Kemmasandi



Series: In Which Old Friends Get Up To Dodgy Tricks [5]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: 30 Day NSFW Challenge, AU - Book of Hours, AU - Ratchet+Babies, AU - Reignite, AU - Uncharted, I Blame Tumblr, Other, Plug and Play Sex, Spark Sex, Sticky Sex, Tactile Interfacing, lots of AUs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-18 08:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kemmasandi/pseuds/Kemmasandi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30 Day OTP Challenge done to the tune of variations along the theme of Ratchet/Optimus, my current absolute OTP. Multiple universes, multiple situations - and lots of giant robot nookie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> >> [30 Day NSFW OTP Challenge found here](http://bluebellglowinginthedark.tumblr.com/post/31013467173/30-days-otp-challenge-nsfw-version)
> 
> [ **Day One:** Cuddling]

_» when you hold me— i’m alive_

Energon and transfluid slicked his movements, EM fields meshing liquid and hot with the frenzied wavelengths of their sparks. He ached in a thousand places, his neural net tense and spasming with quicksilver aftershocks of pain and pleasure alike. There was heat between his legs, and he knew it wasn’t just his own—fluids dripped out of him like the energon from the frame below him, Optimus was covered in minor wounds and he needed to repair them, his coding drove him to it, his servos itching with the urge. But there were things that better helped Optimus after battles like that, and this was one of them.

Strong arms encircled him, drawing tight around him, drawing him close. Optimus reeked with the sharp tang of energon, the scent barely dulled under the morass of oil, mud and atmospheric residue that weighted the air around them thick enough to choke on. Ratchet’s frame remembered the Prime well, on him and in him. His thoughts welcomed the embrace, reciprocated, sliding his palms down Optimus’ sides and onto his lower back, twining them together.

A soft whuff of air, as close to a chuckle as Optimus usually came. He dropped his helm forwards, pressed his forehead to Ratchet’s: _this is me and this is you, and only together are we complete._

Ratchet watched the mechanisms in his optics refocus, and smiled in approval.

***


	2. Day Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >> [30 Day NSFW OTP Challenge found here](http://bluebellglowinginthedark.tumblr.com/post/31013467173/30-days-otp-challenge-nsfw-version)
> 
> [ **Day Two:** Kissing]

***

_» a toast to the lessons not learned yet_

Ratchet’s lips curved into a wry smirk. He slid up over Optimus’ chest, hunkering down and pressing them together, face to face, chest to chest. Plating split apart the barest fraction, brilliant orange light spilling out through the gaps.

“You are certain?” Optimus managed, his optics drawn inescapably to the light. His own spark ached; he’d never wanted anything so much and so _immediate,_ longing so strong it felt as though he ought to be able to reach into himself and touch it flooding through him.

Ratchet’s answer was to lower his head and press his lips to Optimus’, firm and gentle.

 _« I’m certain, »_ he said.


	3. Day Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >> [30 Day NSFW OTP Challenge found here](http://bluebellglowinginthedark.tumblr.com/post/31013467173/30-days-otp-challenge-nsfw-version)
> 
> [ **Day Three** : First Time]

***

_» the waves are crashing closer, my feet already drowned_

The light flickers, ancient wiring threatening to give out entirely. Optimus’ armor shimmers under it, red and blue and somehow divine. He smiles up at Ratchet and spreads his pedes apart, a silent invitation.

Ratchet takes a deep, shaky breath through core vents in an attempt to cool his internals before the heat radiating from his spark melts something important.

Optimus is leaning back on his hands, the angle at which he’s looking up curving his neck into a sensual arch. It bares the cables under his jaw to Ratchet’s view; a sweet spot, one that in any given mech ties into the main sensory array bracketing the cranial casing – and runs very close to the main optical nerve conduit. As an expression of sexual receptiveness, its message is simple: _I trust you with my body – all of it._

Ratchet kneels without thinking, and that’s probably for the best. If he stops to think, the nagging fear and thoughts of inadequacy that eat away at the back of his resolve will probably get the better of him. (It still boggles his mind that of all the mecha Optimus has to pick from, he’d choose Ratchet – the ancient grouchy atheist, the wrench-thrower extraordinaire.) 

So he kneels, and in the same pulse of the spark Optimus reaches for him. Hands clutch at Ratchet’s shoulders, pull him into the space between Optimus’ thighs. Even before his interface panel folds away Ratchet can smell the arousal on him, the heady slick scent of heated lubricant seeping underneath his paneling. Ratchet’s interface protocols respond; his spike pings him with ever-increasing urgency.

“Ratchet,” Optimus murmurs, that glorious deep voice of his bass with anticipation. “I don’t want you to feel obliged—“ he starts, but Ratchet cuts him off with a servo clamped over his mouth.

Shocked blue optics stare up at him from over his fingers, their glow edged with white. “Don’t say that,” Ratchet assures him. “I’m only here because I want to be. Which is, as I’ve said before, the best reason of all.”

He feels Optimus smile against his palm, drops his servo so he can see the way Optimus’ lips quirk gently upwards for himself.

“Yes, it is,” the Prime agrees.

Ratchet’s fans pick up a notch. He sweeps his servos down across the flat plane of Optimus’ windshield, tracing fingertips over the rubber seals at the edges. Optimus groans and arches upwards, sliding his hands up Ratchet’s arms to his shoulders and pulling insistently. His outer plating flares out under Ratchet’s ministrations, the wavelength of his field fluttering, edged with rich abyssal desire. Ratchet throws his field against him, and Optimus’ subconscious control slips; the force of his want hits Ratchet like a blowtorch.

Giving into Optimus urgings, he leans foward and lays himself against Optimus’ frame. The plating against his is hot, Optimus’ ventilation systems humming loud under his armor. Optimus kisses him, gently at first, their mouths meeting in a gentle press of metal. 

Heat blooms in his pelvic array, his spike pressing against its cover. He wants Optimus so much, every line of his coding written with yearning for the frame and spark beneath him. Pulling back, he stares at Optimus for a moment, suddenly not sure how to phrase it – _I want you. Will you let me into you?_

But Optimus has always been perceptive. He takes hold of Ratchet’s hand with a faint smile, holding his gaze as he guides it between his legs. There’s warmth and wetness there, his array panels folding back, baring himself to Ratchet’s attention. A quick look down, and Ratchet can’t look away— it’s the first time he’s seen Optimus’ array outside of a medical capacity, when arousal has his biolights glowing and the tip of his spike peeking from its housing, below it the entrance of his channel clenching in a liquid sheen.

Ratchet touches it with a hesitant servo, running the tip of a digit around the rim of Optimus’ channel, collecting beads of ready lubricant. Optimus wants him, it’s clear. The expression on his face is rapt, his optics slitted and glowing near-white, his mouth opened in a soundless gasp. 

On an impulse Ratchet slips a finger inside him, and watches the pleasure light up his face.

"Oh," Optimus breathes, lifting his optics to somewhere just beyond Ratchet’s shoulder. His engine revs hard, and Ratchet feels it through his body. Calipers clamp down inside him, electrical channels spilling raw charge. Specialised tactile sensors measure the exact temperature of his internals, the pressure with which Optimus’ body bears down on him, but all Ratchet can give voice to is a soft uttering of Optimus’ name. 

He withdraws the digit, and presses two back in, optics fixed intently on the clenching rim of Optimus’ valve as internal calipers try to draw him deeper. He crooks his fingers against the cluster of sensors near the entrance and Optimus cries out, unable or perhaps unwilling to silence his reactions. Ratchet’s array slides open on automatic. He pulls his fingers free and shuffles closer towards Optimus, sliding his knees under Optimus’ thighs and tugging the Prime closer by the hips. His spike pressurizes, and he can’t hold himself back. A quick tilt of his hips, kneeling up a little, and he pushes himself into Optimus. Claspers connect, the wet slide of protoform profane and ecstatic.

Tight, wet, wonderful heat, all around him. It’s been so long, the data swamps him all at once, old sensor nodes lighting up with long-denied charge. It flows through him, servos to shoulders through core armor and spark and down to his legs where between them his own channel clenches and leaks in sympathy as his spike fits so perfectly into Optimus—

Optimus, whose legs close tight around his waist, whose arms around his back cling to him for dear life, whose engine revs again and again in helpless pleasure and whose voice pleads wordless into the curve of Ratchet’s neck, the timbre of it dark and vaguely broken. His channel tightens and releases around Ratchet, the spasmodic fluttering _so slagging good—_

"Optimus," he gasps, his fans shrieking. “I— I need—"

The words stall in his vocaliser, but Optimus knows what he means. They’ve talked about it a lot lately, something in them foreseeing this. It’s wrong, it’s heartbreaking that the first time he’ll come together with this powerful, compassionate, beautiful mech who’s somehow seen fit to take a crotchety old grump like him as mate is on this foreign world, so far from home. 

And yet, despite that, Ratchet knows it’s going to be okay. 

Optimus’ thoracic plates shudder and part, his spark array coming to the fore. The chamber unfurls, and the blue light, bright azure like the summer sky outside, plays off Ratchet’s plating.

I want, says his deepest base coding, and now, it’s freely offered; his to take.

His own plating slides open, the deep orange glow of his own spark emerging.

Optimus gives a shuddering exvent and pulls back for a moment, his servos settling at Ratchet’s waist. His thumbs stroke the lower edge of Ratchet’s doors, and there’s a moment where he searches Ratchet’s optics before moving forward again, resting his forehelm against Ratchet’s, all his awareness focused in the contact. They’re still connected, Ratchet’s spike deep within him. Their current flows, sharing charge between them.

The first layers of their sparks meet, outer coronae flaring, the first flickers of lightning jumping the gap between their frames. Photosphere is next, and the first flickers of Optimus roll through Ratchet’s being. He’s stillness and serenity, with deep flashes of conflict, the depths of the ocean untouched by surface storms. He envelops Ratchet, seeps through his wires and into his skeletal substructure, blueness subsuming everything and yet preserving it. He does not drown Ratchet – he dulls the impact, douses the fire. _Protects_ him.

And Ratchet opens his soul and welcomes him.

***


	4. Day Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >> [30 Day NSFW OTP Challenge found here](http://bluebellglowinginthedark.tumblr.com/post/31013467173/30-days-otp-challenge-nsfw-version)
> 
> [ **Day Four** : Masturbation]

_» i’ll pretend that it’s nothing that’s skipping my heart when I think of you thinking of me_

Nimble fingers slip between flared armor plates, static crackling through his lines. It’s not enough, it’s never enough, he’s got no hope without Optimus. His sensor nodes flare and subside as he passes over them, his neural net shuddering under the assault. 

He growls and shifts position, turning onto his front and kneeling up a little, just enough to slide his hands down from his grill to his hips, digging the fingers of one hand into the gap between pelvic and thigh armor. The other hand scrapes against the bottom edge of his doors, curling up behind the kibble in search of hot spots. He knows he has them somewhere, Optimus has found plenty even he didn’t know he had, but Optimus isn’t here and Ratchet can’t find them and AARGH—

—his temper gets the better of him, anger easier to deal with than the fear and hopelessness that threatens to overwhelm him. He’s doing his best but he’s no Optimus, and worse, he knows it.

His lines thrum with pent-up energy, the delicate mechanisms in his optics beginning to ache. His only recourse at this stage is looking like it might be the one place on him he’s never used in self-stimulation.

His spark belongs to Optimus. But Optimus isn’t here.

His thoracic plating folds out of the way, the plates moving with little protest. His spark array presents itself and he gingerly touches it, gasping at the sheer immediacy of the sensation. It’s intense enough to register as pain if he presses hard enough, and _Primus and the Pit_ that’s good, that’s very good. Bittersweet though, and something cuts in his mind. His spark chamber opens and his spark reaches out, looking for its mate. Plasma against his fingers burns, his sensors baffled by the energy against them. He arches his back and shouts, and wisps of lightning leave blackened marks on his plating.

Overload is quick. But there’s something missing, and Ratchet can’t do a thing about that.

***


	5. Day Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >> [30 Day NSFW OTP Challenge found here](http://bluebellglowinginthedark.tumblr.com/post/31013467173/30-days-otp-challenge-nsfw-version)
> 
> [ **Day Five** : Blow Job]

_» look at my king, all dressed in red_

Optimus frowns, and raises his helm from its position lolled back against the berth. Ratchet’s clever hands slip between his thighs, sliding down to his knees and spreading him open. 

"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice a contented rumble. Ratchet’s only just got done with fragging him through the berth; the transfluid is barely cooled within him and the secret thrill of it tracking up into his inert gestational systems has the majority of his attention.

Though, if this is going where he thinks it’s going, it might have competition soon.

Ratchet grins and huffs a chuckle, waving a careless servo at him. “You’ll enjoy it, I promise." The other servo wraps around his half-hard spike and tightens the fingers one at a time, tactile sensors measuring a wave of rippling pressure that clamps down around him in mimicry of a valve. Optimus moans, and his hips jerk up into Ratchet’s hand.

"Like that, hm?" Ratchet slides his hand down to the base, then back up, giving a deft twist around the sensitive head of his length. Fans roaring, Optimus reaches abortively for him.

Ratchet answers his own question with a wicked smirk. “Yes, you definitely do."

He lets go of Optimus, and shuffles a little further back on the berth, hunkering down between Optimus’ thighs and giving the inner transformation seams a wicked caress from knee to groin. Optimus makes a noise that might have been a whine if he were in a less charitable mood. His spike pulses, fully pressurized; his valve cycles down, his own lubricant and Ratchet’s transfluid dribbling out over his pelvic array. 

Oral sex is good, he likes the feel of Ratchet’s mouth on him just as much as the medic’s fingers and spike inside him. Ratchet seems to like giving it just as much, and though their usual shared preference is for his valve, today it seems Ratchet intends to share the love, as it were. And a hot wet mouth on him is exactly what he wants.

Strong hands slide up over his hips, his medic’s weight pinning him to the berth. Ratchet opens his mouth and gives the tip of him a short, teasing lick. Optimus moans again, hoping to persuade him to go faster. It earns him a reproving look as Ratchet envelops the head of his spike and nothing more in wet heat, the slightest touch of denta a tingling scrape over the shaft. Ratchet’s glossa curls and flicks against him, then with a sudden drop of his helm takes him deep.

And, _ohhhh_ , that’s good. Optimus gasps a sharp cry of " _Ratchet!_ " as the medic’s intake works around him, going tight as he swallows, working a little more of Optimus into him. His glossa sweeps in little waves against the underside, and licks up the length of it as Ratchet lifts his helm. 

He catches Optimus’ optics with the tip of the Prime’s length still in his mouth. His optics narrow in a silent smirk, and he seals his lips around the head and sucks, his cheeks hollowing, swirling his glossa over the protometal. Then he’s sliding down again, and Optimus tips his helm back and stares at the ceiling as he’s taken even deeper than before. His hips move, or try to; Ratchet’s still holding him fast. His hands are on Ratchet’s helm before he knows he’s moved them, but he doesn’t push, just rests them there while Ratchet moves, his spike sliding in and out of the medic’s intake.

Charge gathers in his abdomen, heat flooding through his groin. He comes with a low, drawn-out groan, his transfluid spurting into Ratchet’s mouth.

When he onlines his optics again, Ratchet’s sitting up between his legs, hips moving in little jerky circles, fingers buried in his own valve. There’s a trickle of silver running from the corner of his mouth, so Optimus sets up and kisses it away. His hands find Ratchet’s, slip through the wetness dripping from his frame.

"Would be nice if you helped out," Ratchet says, but his voice holds only affection. Optimus smiles, and kisses him again as he pushes a finger in alongside Ratchet’s. He could say something like, ‘your wish is my command’, but it’d be superfluous. Ratchet knows it is anyway. 

***


	6. Day Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >> [30 Day NSFW OTP Challenge found here](http://bluebellglowinginthedark.tumblr.com/post/31013467173/30-days-otp-challenge-nsfw-version)
> 
> [ **Day 6:** Clothed Getting Off]
> 
> _*This one gave me so much trouble it ain’t funny. Seven weeks. Raaaaawr. D:_

>> _don’t close your eyes ‘cause your future’s ready to shine_

Ratchet fell back against the mesh surface of the berth, tucking his back kibble up out of the way as far as it would go. There was fire in his circuits and lightning in his spark, and as Optimus pushed his legs apart and settled his massive frame down against him, he pushed the taste of it through his field and arched up with a binary cry.

His intakes worked, his vocaliser spitting static. Optimus swooped down and kissed him, soft and sweet and totally at odds with the fiery lust circling through their frames. Denta nipped at Ratchet’s lower lip, a hand moving between his legs and soothing the gouged armor with a soft caress before digging wicked digits into the cables at his hip joint. The ache of half-healed scraplet bites intensified everything until he felt ready to scream; with pleasure or slow seeping pain it didn’t matter, not with the vivid thrum of his mate’s engine transmitting down into his own frame, waking what felt like every single slagging neural node he had.

He retaliated with a cheap shot, slipping his arms around Optimus’ chassis and rubbing the base of his smokestacks. Optimus groaned, his deep, glorious voice a bass counterpart to the intense throb of their engines. His hand slid up Ratchet’s frame, tickling Ratchet’s grill with a light open-palmed caress, tracing the edge of his door up to his shoulder. He let himself down onto his forearms, settling himself chest to chest with Ratchet, and rolled his hips up against Ratchet’s pelvic array.

Ratchet moaned into Optimus’ mouth, and hooked his legs over the backs of Optimus’ knees, locked them together. He slid his servos down the curve of Optimus’ lean waist, digging his thumbs into the gaps as Optimus broke the kiss and arched up just enough to open his chestplates in the scant room that gave them. The blue of his spark spilled out and over them, carving shadows into their frames. Ratchet’s own chest opened on automatic, and even before they settled together their sparks were reaching out for one another, tendrils of orange and azure twining together like old friends.

Optimus caught his optics for just a moment, and the ventilations caught in Ratchet’s fans. Out of his mind on the sensory data overload or not, he could still read the expression rimming those optics, simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying – _I never want to lose you._

Then the Last Prime dipped his helm and captured Ratchet’s mouth in a soft, almost chaste kiss, and their cores came together in a supernova of vision and sound and emotion.


	7. Day Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >> [30 Day NSFW OTP Challenge found here](http://bluebellglowinginthedark.tumblr.com/post/31013467173/30-days-otp-challenge-nsfw-version)
> 
> [ **Day 7:** Half-naked]
> 
> _*Wasn’t sure exactly how to go with ‘half-naked’ as opposed to ‘fully-naked’ because my mechs don’t take off their armor as some do; it’s a body part much like skin albeit one which can be removed with relatively less pain and trial. More tactile will have to do, with a pinch of pnp for good luck._
> 
> * * *

>> _and i have sensed it all along – fast approaching is the day_

It took Ratchet a while to figure out why he’d woken. There were no alarms, no timers beeping in his HUD, and though the deep rumble of Optimus’ engine at his back was perhaps loud enough to have dragged him out of recharge, it was a noise he’d long since become used to.

Then warmth and wetness closed around the tip of his primary cable. Ratchet let out a sleepy moan of pleasure and arched back against the hard length of Optimus’ frame. Ohhh yes, he’d missed this, missed it a lot.

Optimus’ arm tightened around him, holding him still. Ratchet automatically caught hold of his wrist as the Prime’s knee worked between his thighs, his vocaliser humming with pleasure. Deft fingers played along his side, reaching between gaps in plating and prodding sensor nodes to life. Optimus sucked the entire connector tip of Ratchet’s cable into his mouth and curled his glossa around the sensitive protometal, suckling with unfair skill. Ratchet’s interface protocols roared to life, his vocaliser bleeding a staticky gasp.

“I knew I wasn’t going to have a very good night’s recharge,” he managed, offlining his optics and squirming as Optimus’ free hand found his digital interface array, still open from last night. “I didn’t imagine it would be for this reason.”

“I apologise if I have disturbed you,” Optimus murmured, his mouth so close to Ratchet’s audial he could feel the vibrations in the air. His digits pressed down hard on the open and ready rims of Ratchet’s ports, and _Primus and the Pit_ that was good, so _good_. Ratchet writhed in his grip as he added, “Though I do not recall the past few weeks, I feel very strongly that I have missed you.”

Ratchet made a sound that was very near a whimper and arched back, trying to get him to press _harder_ , grinding his pelvic array down against the thigh between his own. He didn’t know if he had the processor to try, charge and ferocious need filling his lines and swelling his spark. 

Fortunately Optimus may as well have been a telepath for all the practice he’d had at reading Ratchet’s mind. He kissed the back of Ratchet’s helm and pressed Ratchet’s connector into his waiting port, and that was the end of thinking for a long while.


End file.
